


Forgotten Fighters: The Other Side

by WarchiefZeke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acromantulas, Battle of Hogwarts, Dark Magic, Death Eaters, Dementors, Drabble Collection, Gen, Giant Spiders, Giants, Minor Character(s), Missing Scene, POV Draco Malfoy, Tributes, Villains to Heroes, healer narcissa malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-24 21:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarchiefZeke/pseuds/WarchiefZeke
Summary: A tribute to the forgotten, underappreciated fighters of the Battle of Hogwarts.An "other side of the coin" to Isidar Mithrim's fabulous work, "Forgotten Fighters" (please check it out!).





	1. Thoughts of an Underestimated Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isidar_Mithrim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isidar_Mithrim/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Forgotten fighters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20413153) by [Isidar_Mithrim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isidar_Mithrim/pseuds/Isidar_Mithrim). 

  
It's pure disbelief that I see in Potter's eyes, as my extremely powerful spell hits the wall, shattering it into pieces like a wrecking ball.

Pure disbelief, quickly turning into horror.

Potter's pupils widen like crazy. Blood rushes down from his face, leaving it paper-white. Drops of sweat appear on his forehead, shiny like Christmas ornaments.

Well, I do not blame him.

He couldn't have expected that. 

He couldn't have expected the semi-literate, rather lowbrow muscleman, who has failed his OWLs twice, to suddenly put up some decent spellwork.

Little does he know.

I'm not the Vincent Crabbe that Potter used to know.

All I needed was a slight push; a fellow Dark Wizard, who would channel all my inner abilities and my incredible raw power into a good use. 

Professors Carrows were the one to help me. The ones to make me blossom.

Draco doesn't like the "new me". 

Now, he tries to stop me from wrecking the place. Just like in the old times, he tries to order me around.

For the first time in my life, I jerk my arm, throwing Draco's skinny hand off. He won't tell me what to do. Not anymore.

I'm no longer his submissive, tight-lipped sidekick.

Draco is a disgrace. He wasted so many chances that I was never given; he put all of his bright opportunities into trash.

Just like his Father.

Now, it's my turn. My time. My chance to shine.

My _Avada Kedavra _misses the Mudblood by inches. It's been casted perfectly, though - and with power more than enough to kill; most of my classmates' Killing Curse attempts on Professor Carrow's lessons caused nothing more than a mild nosebleed.

Time to end this party.

'FIENDFYRE!' I yell on the top of my lungs, and watch the Cursed Flames quickly spreading across the room, filling the aisles, mutating, consuming the huge piles of objects, leaving only ash behind. 

I run, as my spell turns the place into a giant inferno.

'Like it hot, scum?' I mock, seeing Potter, Weasel and Mudblood flouncing hopelessly, desperately trying to dodge the fiery beasts I conjured.

I subconsciously know it is the end of my journey, though. I cornered the enemies, leaving them with no way of escaping, but at the same time - I cut myself off as well. The Cursed Flames are living their own lives now, and I have no means of controlling them.

As the boiling, dazzling inferno consumes me, my lips curl up into a smile.

I would set the whole world on fire to prove myself worthy.


	2. Thoughts of a Boy Who Wasn't a Warrior

I remember the fanatical sparkle in my Father's eyes, three years ago, when he came to take me home from school after the third task of the Triwizard Tournament.

He couldn't care less, that I still had a couple of exams to complete, that I still had classes and schoolwork to do.

I kept asking about the reason of his suddenly altered behavior; about the reason why I couldn't complete the school term like everybody else.

His pupils were wide and his throat was clenched, when he whispered straight into my ear: _"The Dark Lord is back, Theo."_

I didn't dare to ask him any more questions. I didn't dare to ask him _any_ questions for the following _four years._

Skinny and weedy, I never was a warrior. I always preferred spending time in the library to playing sports. My grades were always high due to my academic nature, but - according to the teachers - even my spellwork during classes lacked, what they called, _raw power._

I always avoided Quidditch and other competitive games. I never joined the Duelling Club in the second year; I never even engaged in a single fist fight with any of my peers.

I'm just this kind of a young man.

On the contrary... my Father_ is_ a warrior. He always was.

There's nothing my Father wouldn't do to please the Dark Lord. He is one of the earliest followers, one of the first, original Death Eaters. He fought two bloody, debilitating wars by his Lord's side, and he still craves for more, despite his very advanced age.

He would gladly bathe the whole world in blood of his Lord's enemies. He would turn Earth into debris, level the cities and burn down the fields, only to bring him victory.

He's just this kind of an elderly man.

Now, following the Squib caretaker, surrounded by my house-mates, along a narrow, dark underground passageway, I feel lost. Confused. And trapped.

The Battle is about to begin. My Father is going to be in his element, again. The castle is going to be wrecked. Ancient walls are going to be blasted apart. Corridors and staircases are going to run crimson.

I'm not a warrior.

It's just not my place to be in.

I passed my Apparition exams a couple of months ago. I have my license and as soon as the Squib leads us outside of the school grounds, I could just flee, sly and unnoticed.

I could spend this night on the graveyard, curled up, leaning against my Mother's tombstone. It always helps to ease my nerves. It always helps, when... when I have no idea what to do.

It's decided, then. I'm going to disapparate. I'm going to the graveyard. Let my Father and other warriors fight this battle and earn their glory.

What of a help _I _would be, anyway? A scrawny, quiet boy, who never even punched anybody?

The Squib lets us in a weird place, that looks like a neglected pub.

I stick my head out a window, looking towards the Black Lake.

My blood freezes.

A Dark Mark, glowing in the night sky, above the lake shore. Dark silhouettes, crowding underneath.

Death Eaters, preparing for the fight. My Father is amongst them.

I close my eyes and clench my fists.

_Damn._

'Theodore Nott! Where do you think you're going?!'

Before I knew it, I stand in front of the Squib caretaker, who guards the door.

'Step aside.' I speak calmly. 'I'm going to join the fight.'

Saying these words aloud helps me to come to terms with my own decision.

The Squib narrows his eyes.

'No students are allowed to leave this place!' he says in his annoying, screechy voice. 'The students are suppose to remain in the hideout until the Battle is over!'

I sigh.

'And how are you going to stop me, Squib?'

The caretaker's face pales rapidly. I didn't even draw my wand; it's my steadfast, confident voice that has intimidated him. He obediently steps aside, letting me out.

I walk slowly along the Black Lake's shore towards the greenish, glowing Dark Mark.

No, I'm not a warrior. But the sparkle in my Father's eyes when he sees me, makes me realize, that it is worth to become one - even if just for this one night.


	3. Thoughts of a Sucker for Happiness

Happiness.

Contrary to popular belief, there is nothing ethereal about this feeling.

Three neurotransmitters; oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin. Euphoric hormones - endorphins - and a trigger; an external stimulus necessary to release them.

It's all chemistry, but this chemistry has the power of controlling human beings. Their reactions, their decisions, their inner thoughts. Their existence.

This chemistry also keeps me alive. It feeds me.

I feed on the effects of these chemical reactions; I survive on human happiness.

This gigantic Battle going on down there, is like a great feast for me.

It is an eternal paradox. The gigantic mass of endorphins, unleashed in human brains when they fight each other.

It is almost ridiculous, how happy fighting makes them all feel.

Humans are weak creatures. They evolved to run away from predators; run away from fights. None of them was born a warrior.

Yet, they drive so much joy, so much ecstasy, finally standing against one another, solving their petty differences with violence.

The little reason of this whole conflict, their petty, childish misunderstandings do not concern me, at all. As far as I am concerned, humans can fight as much as they want.

I shall prey on their unleashed ecstasy.


	4. Thoughts of a Rebellious Giant

A human skull cracks under my bare feet; fresh blood splashes all over my ankles, calves and shins.

This crashed skull belongs to an Auror, a member of the strike team, that years ago used to scour British forests, hunting down and killing my brothers and sister.

My name is Gurg Golgomath. I was the leader of the Giants rebellion.

It all started from a ridiculous pair of half-breeds, appearing out of nowhere in my home settlement. They arrived on behalf of Albus Dumbledore, asking our tribe to come and enlist his newly formed army, supposedly created to oppose an "evil Wizard". They also brought a bribe - a fancy, Goblin-made battle helmet

My predecessor, Gurg Karkus, hoodwinked by the bribe and blinded by his own stupidity, agreed to the half-breed pair's terms. I watched him shaking the male half-giant's hand, expressing his support for Dumbledore on behalf of our entire tribe.

I couldn't watch the scene silently.

Karkus, the opportunistic idiot, a disgrace of a warrior, a pathetic excuse for a Giant. All my rage towards him, built up beneath the surface, exploded in this brief moment of the handshake.

Karkus has just shook hands with a representative of the people, who supported the genocide of my entire species within the British Isles.

I pulled out my axe. One powerful swing, and Karkus' head lied beneath my feet, blood squirting from his exposed arteries.

Having killed my pathetic excuse for an predecessor, I proclaimed myself the new Gurg of our colony.

I chased the pair of half-breeds away. They ran, accompanied by my deafening roars and pieces of rocks I threw their direction.

Waldi came the following day. His aim was the same, as the pair's from before - he came to recruit my tribe, ask for our help in the upcoming war.

Unlike the pair of half-breeds, Waldi didn't play around; he didn't use bribes or any flowery language. Unlike the pair of half-breeds, Waldi was already familiar to me. I used to know him before. I knew what he represented.

He represented the Wizards and Witches, who were going to fight our oppressors and persecutors.

Unlike my disgrace of a predecessor, Karkus, I did not shake Waldi's hand. I fist-bumped him instead. I believe it is a way that befits a Giant Gurg more than a human handshake.

Now, I lead the way for the brothers and sisters from my tribe, against a castle we are taking by storm.

Crushing bones and skulls of our enemies, we run towards it. Their petty spells wash over our thick skins without doing us any harm.

One powerful punch of my fist is enough to smash one of the castle's ancient wall into tiny pieces.

After this one, there goes another, and another. We'll level this place to the ground.

Petty, little humans flounce under my feet like vermin, trying to dodge the falling debris.

Only after one of them, a ginger-haired male, falls under the impact of the wall blasting apart and freezes motionlessly, covered by the debris, the humans give up their desperate struggle.

Despite the dangers of the blazing Battle, they all gather around his dead body, making indescribable noises.

And leaving the way clear for me.

Humans are weird creatures. Aren't they?


	5. Thoughts of a Reckless Death Eater

'QUIET!'

I cannot stand the half-breed's pathetic lamentation. I shoot a non-verbal silencer straight into his ugly face.

It is not so easy to create a spell powerful enough to force its way through a half-giant's thick skin. I have no problems with _raw power_, though; unlike precision and finesse, it has always been a strong point of my spellwork.

When the huge dosser shuts his mouth, we all can concentrate on the Boy's Who Lived final moments.

I'm so grateful to the Dark Lord - he does his thing quickly, and without screwing around. He doesn't make any elevated speeches like he always used to, he doesn't even decide to tease the brat before taking his life. He just finishes him off quickly, finally putting an end to this whole mess.

Our victorious march towards the castle proceeds in sweet silence, interrupted only by Bella's ecstatic squeaks, and fanciful insults she yells toward some Centaur gawkers.

Such an annoying girl.

Heh, who am I trying to fool. Me and her are one of the same kind.

Soon it turns out, that the Dark Lord has been waiting with his exalted speech until we reach the castle.

I listen with half an ear, wanting only for all of this to be finally over.

The Dark Lord rambling about our glorious victory.

Bellatrix' orgasmic holler.

Some dumb kid, trying to disarm our Lord, an getting his ass kicked as a result.

Some other kids crying.

_Blah, blah, blah_. Can we move on?

I finally see something that picks my interests. My lips curl up into a smile, when my eyes spot a familiar, ghostly pale face on the other side of Hogwarts' ruined frontyard.

Lucius' kid; the angelic, one-of-the-kind master of the Cruciatus Curse.

My smile widens at the memory of the day following my and Antonin's failure to capture Potter.

Being on the receiving side of Draco's Cruciatus was an unbelievable experience. I have endured the Curse before; from my Lord's hand - because I had to, and from Bella's hand - because I wanted to.

Draco, however... there was something about his inexperienced, timid attempts to torture. Bella may be the mistress of this Curse, but the things Draco - unwillingly - did to the pain receptors all over my body, were... well, unforgettable.

The Dark Lord wanted it to be my "punishment", and Draco's "practice"... There's nothing I wouldn't do in order to receive such a "punishment" every day until the end of my life, but at the same time, I didn't want Draco to have too much "practice". His beginner's level Cruciatus did miracles to my body.

Maybe, when all this mess is over, I could hook up with Draco for one more session... No, it's not a good idea, Lucius is going to think that I'm some kind of a creep, who fancies his son... Ugh, this is as far from the truth as it can get...

An unexpected commotion rouses me from my thoughts. I swear under my breath and look around.

Harry Potter has just turned out to be less dead than everybody had thought. Just... great.

It couldn't have been that easy, could it? Of course things would get complicated at the very end.

Chaos reigns; it's time to fight - again. I have nothing against stretching my bones a little bit - but it'll better be quick and pithy.

***

I would have never imagined that we were going to lose.

It was too abstract of an idea; with our numbers and quality advantage, failure seemed not to even be an option.

_Not that I care._

Being an outlaw and having to lay low to avoid the Aurors is not an issue. It has never been.

Even the Dark Lord's death did not make too much of an impact on me. Bella's death shook me to the core for some reason I fail to understand.

Whatever. I'm eventually going to get over it.

I'm going to start a new life in my old hideout; I'm going to finally take some time to relax.

I'm going to find something new for myself; a new occupation, which is going to fill the void left by not being an active Death Eater anymore.

I nod my head towards Antonin, who hands the bag with my stuff over to me.

Having picked our personal belongings up, we are going to leave the HQ forever; each of us is going his own direction; each of us is going to start his life anew.

I turn back, shooting the glorious Malfoy Manor one last look.

I rise my eyebrows, seeing Narcissa walking towards me. She cuddles a small bundle to her chest with one hand, holding the other one up in the air, giving me a signal to wait.

I scratch my head, surprised.

Looking at Narcissa's face, I'm certain she has been crying for many long hours. Not that I blame her.

Narcissa stretches her arms out towards me, handing me over the small, white bundle she has brought.

I look at the bundle and gasp, taken aback.

'I want you to take her, Thorfinn.' Narcissa says silently.

I freeze like a statue. I'm not only surprised; I'm completely out of my depth.

I take the bundle with the newborn baby girl cautiously; not that I've ever held a baby before.

'Narcissa... are you sure? She's your niece.' I ask quietly, looking at the woman's worn out, tired face.

'_Please_, Thorfinn.'

Narcissa's voice is desperate and full of despair.

Not that I'm willing to argue with a woman, who has just lost a sister.

'Alright, Narcissa.' I say silently, not to wake the child up.

The gratitude and relief I see on Narcissa's face are definitely enough to chase my doubts away.

Cuddling the baby girl to my chest, I walk away from the Malfoy Manor's estate.

It seems that I'm gonna have to become more mature now.

And less reckless.

After all, raising the Dark Lord's daughter is a responsible task.


	6. Thoughts of a Fascinated One

When our Victory was almost sealed, when things were finally starting to go smoothly and according to the plan, _Harry Potter has risen from the dead._

When chaos starts its cruel reign again, an ice-cold cramp grabs my bowels. I know I had to fight, but I also know I couldn't fight with _him_ under my controlling grip.

Obviously, I cannot engage in a fight and keep the Imperius on simultaneously. Despite of the hugeness of the events surrounding me, I have to stay behind. I have to make a connection with _his_ worn-out mind, this time - without resorting to any magic.

I hold Pius' shoulders tightly, and look straight into his eyes as I lift the curse. His pupils widen rapidly; I can see my reflection in their pitch-black depth.

Just as I expected, Pius budges violently, snapping out of the Imperius-induced trans. He looks at me questioningly and I... I find myself barely able to endure his look.

Thankfully, he takes his eyes off me quickly, in favor of looking around to see the chaos of the battle around him. Not a nice moment to be jolted awake, I admit.

'Time to declare your side.' I whisper right into Pius' ear.

I pray, pray and pray, pray hard to great Salazar, for Pius to make a correct decision.

He looks at me, again, this time narrowing his eyes.

I feel all the blood leaving my face, leaving me ghostly pale.

The truth sinks in painfully - I have let go of Pius' mind, and now he is going to turn against us; probably also using his post as the Minister of Magic to make more of our followers quit, not to mention - make the civilian masses lose their trust in us. Obviously, I am going to answer in front of the Dark Lord for this horrible mistake.

Pius' lips curl up into a small smile, and I lower my gaze, preparing for his fateful words.

Never in my life have I felt such a wave of sweet, ecstatic relief - a relief, that made me drop on my knees with tears in my eyes, all despite of the blazing Battle around us - when Pius gets his mouth close to my ear, whispering:

'I'll fight by your side, Corban. I'll follow you wherever you'll go.'


	7. Thoughts of a Female Spider

I am a predator.

In juxtaposition with the weak human beings; these pathetic, unblessed by Mother Nature weedy creatures, I obviously have an upper hand, given to me in advance.

As I march through the battlefield, surrounded by hundreds of my sons and daughters, many of these pitiful human weaklings revert their gaze, terrified by the mere possibility of encountering us.

My field of vision is 360°.

My legspan is fifteen feet.

My venom is deadly.

My blood is transparent.

I am born to spread terror.

I used to have a mating partner. Aragog would never agree to partake in the fight. He was way too attached to the pathetic, oversized human. If not for Aragog not being around anymore, all I would I have been doing by now, would have been restricted to sitting in our den.

Aragog is gone. His weird inclinations are not mine. His soft spots are not mine. I have no counter indications against joining in the fight. I do not have to restrain myself. I have no reason not to indulge in my predatorial instincts.

My name is Mosag. I'm in for one wild night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just realized, that if not for his own death (and, consequently, loss of leadership) Voldemort's army would have won EASILY.


	8. Gloria Victis

The interior of my old bedroom still bears the hallmarks of my childhood and innocence.

My Hogwarts uniform. My old school textbooks. My Quidditch gear. My Nimbus 2001 broomstick.

Only the window view differs completely from the one I remember.

Looking out of my bedroom's window, I can see the Camp of the Fallen.

Yes, the elaborated gardens of my home turned into a refugee camp. Overnight.

Nobody even questioned the choice of the place; it was the only logical one - considering the fact, that my home had served as the Headquarters for the whole previous year.

Now, it welcomes the remains of our, once great and glorious, army.

Most of them injured. Some of them grieving. All of them shattered.

Camp of the Fallen.

My Father doesn't even want to look at their faces. He had locked himself up in his study as soon as we returned, and hasn't came out ever since.

As a deserter, I also find it difficult to even look through my window; not to mention going outside to face all of these fallen warriors in pain and despair.

My Mother, yet again, turns out to be the strongest member of our family.

Wearing a snow-white medical gown, holding a set of healing potions and a first-aid kit, she circulates around the refugee camp, helping the injured ones. She patches up their wounds, glues broken bones together and applies pain-relievers.

I admire my Mother like never before. I wish I would have any abilities to help her; I wish I had her strength and courage to go out there, to face all these people.

I never mastered healing magic, not even on a basic level. I never learned how to soothe somebody's pain.

All I know is how to hurt and destroy. Or do I ? I have failed on all possible fields.

Mother not only knows how to heal, but was brave enough to spontaneously take care of the injured fighters. She doesn't show it, but I know how hard it is for her.

I know, that every jagged wound she dresses, and every inch of burned tissue she applies a soothing potion to, has the scarlet shade of _her sister's death._

I blink to fight off my tears, and see Mother approaching yet another wounded Death Eater. A muscular, big man with a bleeding foot.

I recognize his face and my blood freezes.

Not even thinking my reaction over, I run downstairs. I storm out of the Manor and run across the gardens, through the refugee camp, towards the front gate of our estate, not looking back at my surprised, former comrades-in-arms.

'Draco!'

Not surprisingly, Mother runs after me. I put one hand on the gate's golden handle and turn my head back towards her.

Her silver eyes are wide and terrified.

'The War is over, Mother, I'll be safe.' I reassure her hastily, step out of the gate and dissaparate, before she has a chance to react.

****

I'm not brave enough to look into Potter's eyes, when he steps into the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade, like I had asked him via owl.

He approaches me silently and hands me over a pile of things without a word.

'I thought you wouldn't come.' I say quietly, still not daring to lift up my eyes.

'He was my classmate, who died in front of my eyes.' Potter answers briefly. 'Even though we were enemies, I understand that his Parents deserve at least to have his stuff back, to give him a symbolic burial.'

I look at the pile of Vincent's clothes and textbooks, as well as his old broomstick, that I had asked Potter to restore from our Dorm room in the dungeons.

I look up for the first time.

'Thank you, Potter.'

Potter shrugs.

'You... saved my life.' I add through a clenched throat.

Potter shrugs yet again.

'Your Mother saved mine. We're even.'

He turns back and leaves the Shack.

I stare at Vincent's stuff, astonished, without a word. How come I not know, that my Mother had saved Potter's life...?

*****

Old Crabbe lifts his watery eyes up at me, when I hand his son's belongings over to him.

My voice shakes, as I silently explain him all the details about Vincent's tragic death.

'He... died like a hero.' I end my monologue quietly. _Unlike pathetic me_, I add in my mind.

I bow my head in front of old Crabbe, and turn back to walk away. The man is too dumbfounded to thank me, he is too dumbfounded to utter a word.

As I walk away from the old man, who has just lost his son, I feel burning tears filling up my eyes.

Suddenly, I feel I've found myself in a warm embrace. Sweet fragrance, white medical gown.

Mother.

She hugs me like she used to hug me back in the days, with relief and pride.

When I lift up my eyes, I see that Mother looks at the weeping Crabbe. She has witnessed the whole scene.

I feel, that this small gesture I've just made, was the only good thing I managed to accomplish throughout this entire War.

The Fallen deserve to be remembered.

Gloria Victis.


End file.
